through the kitchen, his hand on the door to the garage, he saw the pile of yesterday’s mail. Damn Gia. She hadn’t even looked through it. Probably a mountain of bills that he couldn’t pay. And that damn lease on the restaurant. Highway robbery. It was drowning them in a sea of red ink. Drowning them.
Glenn felt a burning in his throat. Acid reflux. His stomach was probably riddled with ulcers. He didn’t even want to jump Gia’s bones anymore, but then ever since her last miscarriage she’d been a crying, chocolate-devouring, weepy-eyed rag doll. Hell, she’d sworn she never wanted children when they got married, but now she came after him with lacy, baby-doll lingerie and a panting avid mouth, the only spark of energy she could ever muster—all in the name of pregnancy with a capital “P.”
Lucky for him, Mr. Ready spent most of his time curled up and flaccid these days.
Which wasn’t helping their marriage much, but Glenn had bigger fish to fry.
He almost ignored the mail, irritated at Gia’s apathy. If sex wasn’t on the agenda, she was useless. Like a queen bee.
Only good for mating and laying eggs. Tended to by minions. One of those repulsive insects—maybe termites—had a queen that was a white, quivering blob—couldn’t move unless it was pushed and prodded by the workers. Well, that was Gia these days. A blob.
“Glenn?”
He looked over. Well, there the blob was. Risen from her bed. Red-eyed and scraggly haired. She’d been pretty once, not so long ago, but now she didn’t care. Simply didn’t care.
“Where’re you going?” she asked.
“To work.”
“I thought you had tonight off.” A whine entered her voice.
“I never have a night off. Never. I work all the time. It’s called owning your own business, y’know?” And what do you do?
“Why can’t you divide your time with Scott?”
“Because Scott’s at Blue Ocean, trying to get the menu in line with the clientele. And we have problems at Blue Note.”
“We have no life, Glenn. No life!” She threw up her hands in despair. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know what you’re going to do. I’m going to work.”
“When’s Scott coming back?”
“I don’t know,” Glenn mumbled. A lie. Scott usually returned on Sundays, after the weekend, and then he sure as hell put his time in at Blue Note. The man was everywhere, looking over Glenn’s shoulder, criticizing, pointing out when things weren’t done to his satisfaction. Glenn couldn’t fault him, though he’d like to. Right now he wanted to fault someone. Anyone. And he really didn’t want to face Scott tonight, though his partner had said he’d be in later. Well, good. They needed to talk. Seriously talk. Something had to be done or the business would fail. Since he’d personally guaranteed loans against Blue Note and Blue Ocean, everything, including this monster of a house, would be stripped away. How would Gia feel then? “Why didn’t you go through this mail?” he asked.
“What? Oh.” She rubbed her forehead with both hands. The useless piece of dead weight seemed to sleep all day and all night. Glenn couldn’t imagine what she ever thought she’d do with a kid. From what he’d heard, they never let you sleep at all. “I—I don’t know.” She lifted her fleshy shoulders in a shrug.
God, she was useless.
Glenn swept up the pile and sifted through it, making a big production about it, just so she’d know he was the one doing all the work, he was the one supporting them, he was the one.
“What time’ll you be back?” Her chin was bent down and she looked at him from the tops of her eyes. If she thought that was sexy, she had a rude awakening coming her way. She was about as sexy as cold meatloaf.
“I’ll call you,” he muttered.
Bills, bills, bills.
An advertisement for some new cell phone deal that would probably cost him a fortune in hidden charges. Several notices to “occupant,” which really was a pisser, when you thought about it. Couldn’t be bothered to find out who lived in the place. Those went straight to the trash.
And a card addressed to him with no return address: Glenn Stafford.
No Gia listed at all.
Huh?
Gia was smoothing back some of her bleached-blond hair. “I could wait up for you.”
Fat chance. She’d be out cold in an hour if she got into the wine, which she did almost every night now.
Yep. A marriage made in heaven.
“I’ll be late.” Glenn stuffed the envelope in his pocket and banged out the back door to his car. A Honda. He’d traded in his Porsche last year. Traded down. It had hurt like a hole in his heart, but he hadn’t been able to afford the payments along with two mortgages. He kept thinking the damn restaurant would turn around, but it was a hungry alligator and its teeth were planted firmly in Glenn’s backside. His ass was getting chewed off bit by bloody bit, month by month.
He drove to Blue Note, a dark cloud over his head, and he checked his rearview mirror more than usual. All the talk and speculation about Jessie Brentwood was kinda making him crazy and paranoid—as if living with Gia didn’t do a good enough job of that as it was. No one appeared to be following him, at least not tonight, but lately he’d had the feeling that someone was watching him.
Gia. It’s Gia, you idiot. She wants to know where you are every second.
Parking the Civic in a spot at the rear of the building, he cut the engine and spent several moments listening to the tick of the motor as it cooled.
What was he going to do?
What the hell was he going to do?
He was trapped.
No way out.
Angry at the world, he slammed out of the car and swore he saw someone skulking around the bushes flanking the parking lot, but on second glance, he saw only a raccoon lumbering off after raiding the Dumpster.
“Damned pests,” he muttered, circling around and entering through the front door. He liked catching the staff unawares, seeing who was standing where, who was actually working versus who was yakking. Pete was sure a waste of space. The guy schmoozed and glided around, wooing the customers, and he didn’t help out in the least with the grunt work. Why people liked him was a complete mystery to Glenn. He’d already banged two of the waitresses in the back, one up against the wall, according to Luis, who could barely speak English. But Luis had communicated the incident well enough so Glenn had had to confront the oily Pete, who simply smirked and said it was beyond his control. Glenn would have fired him on the spot, but Scott had stepped in. Pointed out that Pete brought in good business, which, damn it all, was the truth.
Glenn felt Mr. Ready twitch at the thought. His sleeping penis could rise from the dead with the right incentive. Like a lusty waitress or two. Glenn wouldn’t mind slamming
